Remember When
by rhodesXmorrisonXorton
Summary: Remember when we were like brother and sister that eventually turned into boyfriend and girlfriend? Remember when you stole my crayon in kindergarten and then gave me a drawing of a flower using it? Remember what we had? Drew McIntyre/OC one-shot


**One-shot:** Remember When

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><p><strong>Brief Description:<strong> _Remember when we were like brother and sister that eventually turned into boyfriend and girlfriend? Remember when you stole my crayon in kindergarten and then gave me a drawing of a flower using it? Remember what we had?_

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> _Another one-shot for all you guys to enjoy! This one features Drew McIntyre, since I do feel there is a dearth of Drew McIntyre fanfics on this website. Hope y'all like this one!_

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><p>Remember when we were like brother and sister that eventually turned into boyfriend and girlfriend?<p>

Remember when you stole my crayon in kindergarten and then gave me a drawing of a flower using it?

Remember when you pushed that girl who bullied me to the ground and gave me a Band-Aid for the cut on my knee?

Remember all those things you did for me, the things you did that made me fall for you?

Remember what we had? That moment we shared? That moment when we kissed underneath the stars?

Remember when you asked me to the dance in front of everyone in grade school?

Remember when we came out as a couple and stunned the whole world?

Remember the Cliffs of Moher, where you swore you'd make me mine forever and gave me that promise ring?

I still have it.

I still have that ring, locked away in a special lock box of its own, with a key shaped like an intricate heart. That ring, white gold with a five-carat pink diamond, was what you gave to me that day, when I was nineteen and you were twenty, when I was a young university student and you were a rising wrestling superstar in Great Britain.

Now, while you're living the dream in America with the WWE, I am alone, living in an apartment in Glasgow, working as a waitress in one of those gentlemen's bars, more like a mockery out of women, I'd say. Every night at around five in the evening I'd head down there, put on a cute little dress, and watch the men's eyes following the hem of my dress as I scurried from table to table, collecting ash trays and empty tequila glasses, all whilst trying to hide my disgust at my colleagues stripping down nearly naked for perverted middle aged men. As I scrub tables at six in the morning I think spitefully of how things could've been different between us now.

We could've had it all. We could've been together, married, living in a beautiful house and possibly raising even more beautiful children. At this moment I could be with you, watching you live the dream and I being your number one fan.

Today, however, I was the last person you'd expect to be a fan. Oh, and remember that ring you gave me? That prized, precious jewel you gave me, swearing an oath of love to me as the waves crashed against the cliffs? Guess what? I haven't dared to open that box in a long time.

And you know exactly why I can never bring myself to look at that little jewel.

That jewel not only reminded me of us, but it was a reminder of why there's no 'us' anymore.

It was all your fault, Drew. It was all your fault that I'm such a dreadful mess. It was because you had to run off with that whore and sleep with her behind my back, all while I was carrying your child.

Yes, Drew. I had your kid. The kid that never became a kid. Our son that never had a chance to breathe life.

It wasn't an ovarian cyst that took away our child. It was you and your dirty, cheating ways. You think I didn't know then? I knew the instant I found that black lace push-up bra that definitely didn't fit my chest size. That little item I found by our bedside while you were somewhere halfway across the world.

Oh Drew, I couldn't tell you. I couldn't bear to see your face screwed up in anger or stricken with guilt. I dumped you the silent way; I packed up and left. I got my phone number changed so you wouldn't call me. I deleted my Facebook so you wouldn't spam up my wall. I hadn't even considered getting a Twitter because I'm not going to answer any of your tweets.

It was over, Drew. You knew perfectly why it was over.

Remember when I picked up your phone and found a Rated R photo of your whore in our bed?

You keep that photo, Drew. Keep it, so you can remember what a man-whore you really are. So you can remember what you lost.

Remember when you returned home and realized Elena Lane and Drew Galloway no longer existed?

Remember it.


End file.
